Don't Run From Me
by Blistered
Summary: GENDERBENT!Jeremy. What if Jeremy was a girl and Damon was obsessed with her? *MATURE CONTENT AHEAD*


***WARNING: Trigger warnings for Violence & Cutting. MATURE CONTENT AHEAD***

I feel empty again. It's that time of the night, either around two, three or four that I feel it sink in. It's the _loneliness_. It's the _emptiness._ At night, it's got a hold on me.

I must stare at the ceiling for hours on end, playing scenes in my head that may or may never occur. I think to myself, 'there has to be another way' or 'there has to be more.'

There has to be _something. _

I imagine my future and see absolutely nothing. I imagine the future life I'll live, and feel so disparaged.

Who am I if I'm not hollowed trash? Who am I if I'm not nothing at all?

Rolling over to my side, those doe-eyes search for my glasses so I can see. (I've had bad vision since I was young, and before I read, this is necessary.)

I check the clock to check the time. 3:43— a fair time for expectation.

There's got to be some other way to live—some way that makes surviving worth it. Of course, I want to live.

I want to wake up and see the sun for how bright it shines, but I haven't and cannot.

**If there were nothing else to live for…for what else would we live for?**

Every day that I tried to cope was another round of effort absolutely wasted. How had I managed after the death of my kin? I was broken; in a rage for the unfairness of everything. Nothing could feel _safe_, and everything felt _raw_.

There's no light at the end of the tunnel—only more darkness. I can't manage to see the light of anything when I drag myself unto the world and back home every day.

_He knew_. It was like he could smell it on me, the broken in my spirit.

To him, I already belonged to something because I belonged to _him_. I was born to meet him, and born to rise from his flames.

I'm standing in front of the mirror when I catch his face behind me. Surely, he wasn't there before. His eyes are dark pools of oblivion, blue, and he's staring at me unbothered. My body feels cold and yet my ears heat up. Our eyes have made connection. His lips quirk for a moment and I feel something like exposed. I feel as if he could read my thoughts and understand my phases.

"..I didn't hear you come in." I'm left eyeing him, and he's standing by the window.

"Of course you didn't." He didn't want to be heard.

For some reason, I feel as if I'm to be ashamed and grip my sleeve to tug the fabric over my wrists. He knows I've hurt myself again. He knows I'm _wounded_.

I already sense he can smell it. There's fresh blood on my dark sleeve, and even if it can't be seen, it can be _detected_—At least by _him._

"Damon.. It's l-late. Y-You shouldn't b-be here." My voice is too light and unconvincing, and bumpy with my stuttering.

"You're telling me what to do now?" His is bold.

He's arching a brow and isn't fond of my response. My anxiety has me shifting my weigh back and fourth between feet to try and relax. For as long as I could remember, I'd had a stutter and he didn't like it. He'd poked fun at me, and he'd chastised my speaking.

Now, my voice seems small and almost child-like. I'm not sure what to do when I can't read him like this.

"Jeremy.." he starts, but my lower lip is already wobbling.

I can see the way his jaw begins to clench and his dark boots walk toward me.

"N-No" I stutter out. I know he's much too angry.

His hands reach for me and I scurry for the door. Oh, he doesn't like that.

"Don't run from me Remy. It won't go well for you."

But I do it anyway. I always do.

Damon Salvatore makes me feel afraid. Originally, he'd been drawn toward the Gilbert's for the eldest of us, and grew curious for how she looked like Katherine, but when he'd caught a glimpse of the youngest, I suppose he never wanted to stop looking.

Jeremy Gilbert, the little sister of an orphaned family.

(After all, isn't that what we are?) He was beginning to crawl though my window more often, and I could do nothing to stop it.

He was _wild_. He was _dangerous_. He was chasing me.

I did the only thing I knew to do, and crawled into a cabinet downstairs in the kitchen. I cup my hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut as if I could transport myself to

a different place or to freedom. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't know where I was.

"Oh Reemmyyy" His voice is singsong. I hate it when his voice is singsong. It's never good. I'm in trouble, so much trouble, and I know if he finds me I'm absolutely done for. He wouldn't _really_ tear me apart. _Would he_? He pushes over lamps and knocks glasses to the floor. I can hear the crashing and destroying of our family home. Every sound makes me flinch. Every crash brings on nerves.

I don't know how long I've sat. I have no sense of time and it reminds me of a cat or dog. They don't really know how long you've been gone. It didn't matter. Any absence _was_ an absence. In this case, I had no idea how long I would be alone, and I _wanted_ it to _stay that way._ He speaks again.

"Stupid girl. You could have made it so much easier on yourself." I know that he means it. His voice is echoing just outside the kitchen and I know he's getting closer and closer to his destination. My knees are pressed so tightly to my chest that I feel I'm trying to become invisible. I can only hope it works and that he's not closer to winning. I _have_ to be silent. I have to be careful.

"Oh c'mon Remy… I'm not gonna hurt 'cha. I'll give you one more chance. You can _hope_ that I _don't_ know where you are and stay in your little hiding place, _or,_ you can come out and face me with your pride still intact." After a moment of silence, he sighs and adds "So Little Gilbert, what will it be?"

I don't say a _word_. If I do, he'll find me and if I know him at all, I know hell will be paid. All in the Gilbert house goes absolutely _silent_.

All I can focus on is the pounding of my heartbeat. He _has_ to hear it, and just as soon as the thought has crossed my mind, the cabinet door swings open and his hand is dragging me out.

"Hard way it is."

I kick and scurry from him, but he's got a firm grip on my ankle and he yanks me out with one harsh tug.

"Let me go! L-Let me go!" I beg. He only smiles cruelly at the sound of it and continues his drag on the way to the living room. He wants me on the carpet and then releases to watch me try and crawl away.

"Poor girl. Why are you so scared?" He's got amusement in his tone. I am crawling on hands and knees, grunting with eyes toward the front wooden door. Please let me be quick enough, but I'm not, am I?

"Is it because you know that you're in trouble? Is it because you're scared of what I'm going to do to you?"

"Don't hurt me, D-Damon."

"Don't hurt me _D-D-Damon!_" He mocks me and then smirks.

With another grip on my ankle, he flips me over so I'm flat on my back and looking up at him. He blurs downward and presses a knee between my thighs so they part, and his hand grips my neck firmly to keep me in place.

"P-Please" I can't seem to get my voice in order. It shakes much worse when I've gotten nervous. My Bambi eyes are wide when he's staring down at me like this.

The circular glasses I normally wear for vision correction are sliding down my nose. Never before had I a man that would terrorize me. Never before had I a man make me this _afraid_. He reaches with his free hand and snatches my glasses free from my face. I whine and immediately reach to grab them, but I'm aiming at air and coming up empty. He's taken my stability and now my senses.

"Damon I can't see! G-Give them back!" I continue to fight, but he only holds them above my head. Goddamn these arms for being too short. And goddamn my eyes for being so blind.

"That's the point you little brat. Only _well behaved_ girls get to see."

I whine again and he rolls his eyes. (Though I can tell he's shaking his head side to side.)

"But I didn't do anything!" I cry out, bothered.

"_DIDN'T DO ANYTHING_?" His voice booms through my two ears. He's seething, angry, and releases my face so he can grip my arm. The moment his fingers collide with it, I wince. The cuts feel tender, and his touch is like a serious acid stain. I try to pull my arm back but he's already shoving up my sleeve. It's my obvious self-harm. It's my obvious self-loathing.

"What is this, Remy?" I know what he's referring to, but I manage to free my arm and tug it against my chest.

"Nothing…" I mumble. It's the usual response. My brows are furrowed and I refuse to look at him.

"It's not nothing" he starts "..I told you never to do that again. You promised, and you lied to me."

I feel that shame returning again. He isn't wrong , but he's wrong to do this. I want to get off the floor and he's not intent on letting me.

"_Don't move_ until I tell you to. And I don't remember telling you."

My shoulders sink in and I glare at what I assume to be his face. "Can I at least have my glasses back?"

"No, you absolutely can not."

He rises and my eyes follow him even if it's a blur. I pout and he takes a seat on the edge of the couch cushions. He inhales a deep breath and then points down to his lap.

"Come here…. Now."

Now I know it's coming. He's going to spank me and he's going to make me hurt.

I shake my head and offer a whimper noise as I gently start to apologize.

"No… I'm sorry, Damon. I'm sorry!"

Not one little stutter. I meant every word I said, and even if he knew, it still didn't stop him from wanting to punish me.

"_NOW_, Jeremy." He's not taking an answer. There _is _no right answer. This is how it has to be.

"If you're so sorry, show me by coming here quickly and taking your punishment like a big girl."

I slowly stand and shuffle my feet so I can make it to the couch. When I get near, he grips my body and shuffles me over his lap. My knees are slightly brushing the ground and he jerks my little shorts down and rips my underwear right out of the way.

"Won't be needing these."

The smoothness of my round behind is bare and ready to be punished. I feel the chill of the air on my skin and know I'm not longer jean-clad protected.

My back arches, and I hold onto his leg as he raises a hand and starts to swat me and make me cry out. Not once, not twice, but three times. I immediately begin to writhe and kick out my feet

"N-No that hurts!"

Again and again he acts. Here come the assaults, number five, six, seven, eight, and nine. My ass is swollen and red when I think that he's finished. I try to reach out to grip the couch and he growls gently and spanks me much harder. Here comes ten, eleven, twelve and thirteen. I'm not sure that he's finished when he lifts his hand for more, signaling fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. By this point, there are fresh tears on my face and I'm begging him again.

"Ow, Damon! S-S-Stop! Stop!" I call. Last is eighteen, nineteen, and finally twenty.

His hand stills and the wideness of it grips my backside in his palm and gives it a squeeze. My skin is raw and stinging but his gentle touches seem to soothe me. Still, I sniffle.

"You didn't have to d-do that mm-many." I said.

"Yes. I did." He says. And then he's tugging me up to straddle his waist so he can hold me.

His sapphire eyes are burning with something I can't quite detect, but I wrap my arms around his neck and he shuffles my glasses back into place. From then on out, I can see that it's desire he feels and I want to give in to him. I already have.

I'm bare from the waist down, and ask no more questions when I reach for his zipper and begin to tug it down. Just when I'm close to getting it undone, Damon's rough hand stops me and he narrows his eyes.

"Next time you know you're in trouble… _Don't_ run from me and don't try to hide."

I slowly nod, and return to what I'm doing, but Damon doesn't seem pleased. He stops me again.

"Ah-Ah. What do I want to hear?" he says and I sigh.

"Yes, Daddy.." I speak softly, but a blush has taken over my face and I am positively red. I finally get a chance to open his jeans. I free his cock from his boxers because the first thing I come to contact with is the outline of his erection. I know how bad he wants me, and he makes no excuses and neither do I.

Damon leans back into the couch and allows me to take position over his lap. With his hands, he's busy tugging the rest of my clothing free so I can be completely bare while he is still all the way clothed. It's a control thing, for me to be so vulnerable but for him to take me. For now, I'm in position to take control. I know what he wants me to do. He taught me. Give him my pussy.

It's tight, young, and it's what he wants.

I place the thickness of his eight-inch wide against my little slit and allow it to be pushed apart as I slowly sink down.

The moment my little pussy swallows him, Damon's hands grip my hips, his head falls back against the couch, and he groans. No condom. Why the hell would we need one? I need his cock bare, and he needs to feel how wet I can be. My hips are quick to roll against his lap and fuck him. I feel my little pussy open up and the pressure rise inside of me. He's so big, and I'm so small. I have to grip his body for leverage and to hold on.

God, I whine for him. I whine for him, and he loves it and takes pleasure in the sound. His hand spanks my ass, and with the pain I feel from a stretched open pussy, the pleasure, and the glory of the way he grips me harshly, I feel myself float to a sense of heaven/euphoria.

"Fuck, you get so wet for me, Bunny."

He starts to grow impatient and grips my hips so he can raise his own. He pounds into me. It's hard and the sound of it is erotic.

"Daddy!" I cry out and my eyes nearly roll back. He grips up my arms and pins them, folded behind my back.

I'm the first to get off as my pussy tightens around his dick and leaves me tugging at my arms in attempts to hold on.

He growls gently, keeping his eyes trained on my naked little body getting fucked in his arms.

When I've given into him, he repositions us so he can press my back into the couch and his body can rest between my thighs. Damon's jeans are still on and hanging low on his hips, and he reaches down to grip his cock and force it back inside the creamy, soaked little slit between my legs. I whine at the feel of it stretching me, and make soft kitten noises when he flexes his hips to give it to me deep and make me scream.

"Tight.. little.. girl…" He moans as his cock gets harder and releases cum into my body. His cock is wet, and slapping against my clit and pushing cum into the entrance.

Still, he isn't finished with me. He fucks me just as hard as before, if not harder, and makes me a wet mess that's absolutely ruined.

"Ah—Daddy.. fuck it.. fuck.. please.."

I whine a series of curses and things to be mumbled. One of Damon's hands grip my neck and the other grips my hip as he sits up and pounds inside me. My back is arching and my head has fallen back.

God, I'm wet, and pussy covered in his cum.

"Fuck.. don't stop.."

And I don't think we can.


End file.
